


All the Perfumes in Arabia

by JetnessAffliction



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7306609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetnessAffliction/pseuds/JetnessAffliction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or alternativelty, Macbeth on the Moon. A Pretentious re-write of key scenes within episodes 17 and 18 of Aldnoah Zero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Perfumes in Arabia

_ Preface _ : 

 

The Earth beams at them, a swirling, taunting form of white and blue just beyond the Lunar Fortress, and the masters of that Fortress -that broken body trapped by the Earth’s orbit- talk quietly side by side.

 

“Are you really going to fight the duel, Slaine?”

 

“Yes. I have been challenged, so I cannot back down.”

 

“This happened because I allowed Count Marylcian’s visit..”

 

“Not at all. It is thanks to you.”

 

She turn to him, finally, her pale blue eyes large and surprised.

 

“It is the perfect opportunity to demonstrate my strength,” He continues, and  the smile that softens his words is even more surprising, “If I am victorious in this duel, it will act as a deterrent against Orbital Knights who oppose me.” 

 

A show of strength, then. A warning. Her eyes go wide at the reveal, partly from this sudden glimpse into Slaine’s thoughts, partly from her accidental fortune at helping him, “There is nothing to be concerned about.”

 

She smiles back, just as soft, taking his lead-- taking for granted that Slaine will be victorious, and turns back toward the view of Earth.

 

“Your dream might actually come true one day, won’t it?” 

 

His eyes slip closed and a practiced smile pulls at his lips. “I have no dream to…”

 

“A Terran who had been held in contempt now holds genuine power within Vers.” 

 

She doesn’t see it, but Slaine opens his eyes again, and his gaze dulls for a moment, eyelids slacked by no small amount, and much more so than the tight line of his lips.

 

She turns back to him and resumes smiling in his stead.

 

“I have felt it ever since we first met. That you and I were kindred spirits”

 

And Slaine, for all his carefully chosen words, cannot hide the wariness in his voice, the dry distrust that borders on challenge: “Do you intend to hold a grudge against the royal family forever?”

 

“Yes,” she breathes out in an instant, soft, but not a trace of regret. Not a single moment spared to consider who she has resigned to hate. “It’s incredibly satisfying to see someone without a drop of Versian blood in him gaining power.” 

 

But she lowers her head and avoids the sideways glance when she considers who she may have resigned to love. “I think you will never let go, either… of my sister. You genuinely love her, don’t you?”

 

His eyes widen at the mention of Asseylum and he turns in lieu of answering.

 

“What if… What if I could help you? I don’t mind if I am only my sister’s substitute...”

 

*    *    * 

 

_ Battlefield: _

 

The observation deck is wide and bare but for the three of them, and all eyes are fixed on the looming forms of Herschel and Tharsis facing off beyond the glass. Their pilots, the disparaged, adopted son of the late Saazbaum and his challenger, the boorish and haughty veteran Noble, exchange curt resolutions. 

 

And then they are off, tearing away like burning stars, colliding as they rise.

 

What unfolds onto the colossal observation screens next is a mixture of kataphrakt camera feeds and triangulated surveillance footage, and all of it is distorted. The visuals are crackling and grainy, and the audio alternates between booming loud then suddenly cutting to silence without warning. But the larger than life footage transform the space that they, the witnesses at hand, watch from, as if they were beside the duelists themselves.

 

But not Lemrina. 

 

No, the shadowed form of Lemrina Vers Envers is absent. Under the plaited gold hair and angelic white gown of her royal highness, Asseylum Vers Allusia, Lemrina does not exist. Not here, not in this observation room. 

 

At first, the idea seems like nonsense, but to Lemrina’s heart, covering herself in the image of her royal sister, now of all times, changes who she is really is deep down, doesn’t it? If all Lemrina wants to do is call Slaine back to safety, but she can’t make a single sound to direct him that way, then what use is she under that anxious expression that twists Asseylum’s regal features? The image projected may be a facsimile, but Lemrina hears the echo of metal against metal, hears the casual malice in Marlycian’s taunts and convinces herself that she really is powerless here, hidden beneath the guise of her sister. 

 

If so --and Lemrina believes this with absolute certainty-- then she must be out there. With him. 

 

Hershel’s funnels launch, lighting fast and carving elegant, burning lines across the void between itself and Tharsis’ glowing form. Tracking shots turn into a hail of fire and Harklight steps forward, the stiff lines of his shoulders shaking as he shouts his master’s name. 

 

Lemrina's breath catches as the hail becomes a torrent, and her jaw drops as she watches Tharsis twist and slide along the jagged caverns of the lunar mantle. Her body is frozen in place, locked in the wheelchair more than ever, but she feels every stray laser burning in her chest, every cut and scrape wreck through her veins and pound against her heart, cold and fragile out there in the lunar atmosphere.

 

She wants to stand, suddenly feels the overwhelming pressure of her heart beating against her chest, as if it were responding to the vacuum of Tharsis’ wake, as if it would otherwise tear from her body unless she moves toward him as crimson light streaks past--- 

 

“Slaine!”

 

She calls out, unable to hear the distress in her own voice, unable to lift her legs. But the sound of his name echoes back to her, sharp and ringing between the pounding of her own heart in her ear. Stunned to silence, she can only listen to the echo  _ Slaine!  Slaine!  Slaine!   _ as it hammers against her thoughts, just as heavy and wrenching as in her chest,  _ Slaine! _ She doesn’t have the time to think - _ what if _ \- doesn’t have the chance to even imagine her regrets. She doesn’t want to.

 

Her throat tightens and her lips shake as she watches Tharsis dart and weave through the lunar debris. Why? She despairs silently, eyes transfixed and heavy with unbidden tears. The moon,  _ her moon _ , can offer him no more help than this?!

 

But when Tharsis dives into the maze of loading tunnels her eyes widen, the tears dry up instantly as she realizes this is it. This is the turning point. That is no neglected maintenance tunnel Tharsis has sheltered in, it is a harbor. 

 

A harbor that has endured, steadfast and quiet, hidden since the start of construction on the Lunar fortress.

 

This fortress where she has lived since ill-fated birth. Her crib. Her castle and her cage. In the dry dust that spills from the tunnel's mouth is her own breath, and Slaine launches an offensive when it clears.

 

Everything seems to slow as the duel comes to an end, as Tharsis’ blades unfurl like edged snakes against the blackness and stars and dart straight against Herschel’s weak point. While the others in the room focus on the grainy, relayed footage of that strike, Lemrina has as a much clearer view.

 

She sees Slaine, in that silent, crystallized moment of time. She sees who Slaine really is. Snarling and clawing and  _ killing _ those who stand in his way for a new world.

 

The idea sears into Lemrina’s mind, a source of strength more than ever, and her next actions are clear to her. She needs to be that strong, that determined, now more than ever. She needs to be that harbor amid the war and chaos that is sure to flare again. She needs to carve away anything in the way, even if it is her own heart. Even if it is her own sister.

 

As Harklight and Count Barocruhz confirm the duel’s outcome and the transfer of assets, the placid, composed Princess Asseylum nods in solemn agreement.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> Aldnoah Zero Secret Santa present for @queen0f_hearts on twitter~


End file.
